Ignis Fatuus
by Bleu Tsuki
Summary: Sequel to Tabula Rasa. Harry's recovering from his three year coma, but it seems like an eternity. With everyone moving on in their lives, who can Harry depend on? Especially when he has flashes like fire which tell of a deeper story between him and his Potions Master. But are they just that? Flashes from a cursed mind? HP/SS


**A/N: This short fic is set in the Tabula Rasa universe. I'm thinking a three or four shot on this one. Please review! **

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Ignis Fatuus

Part 1

Harry woke slowly, acutely aware of the sunlight streaming into the little room. The bed, he noticed, was scarlet with gold trimming, similar to the walls which surrounded him. It seemed like home—except that it wasn't. But what did he know about home anyway?

Harry slipped out of bed, wondering how it all could have happened. One minute he was in the final battle. The next, he was reading the scariest diary in all of existence (even scarier than Riddles'). And the next? Killing Voldemort once and for all.

Three days.

No. Three years. Harry Potter was twenty.

How could it have gone so..._wrong?_ Harry shook his head. It was too early in the morning to get bogged down by depressing thoughts. He crossed the room swiftly and was about to open the door when someone knocked on the other end.

"Harry? Are you awake?" Hermione asked tentatively, her voice smoother and more mature than he remembered.

"Yeah, just give me a minute." Harry responded. It was only his second day after taking the potion, and yet Snape had warned he would have some tendency to do the same things-like waking at seven, or napping at ten.

"Oh, good morning, Harry!" Hermione said brightly as the young man stepped out into the hall.

"Good morning to you too, Hermione." he smiled.

Even though he knew time had passed, logically his mind was exploding to see Hermione looking so..._womanlike._ It didn't help that her engagement ring had a funny way of catching the light. _Three years, Harry, three years, _he reminded himself.

"Molly's making waffles this morning." Hermione informed him pleasantly. "And Blaise is coming over for lunch."

Harry nearly faltered in his step. "Blaise?"

"Oh- he's going out with Ginny, didn't I tell you?"

Harry flushed. "You might've mentioned it."

The two made their way down the steps and into the kitchen, where most of the Order sat eating. Molly had invited them to stay the night for the second time, in celebration of Harry's return. Bill sat next to Fleur, Sirius sat next to Remus...there was a lot he missed apparently.

Forcing down a pang in his heart, Harry strode into the kitchen, trying to no avail to ignore all eyes watching him with undisguised curiosity. It was like he was a first year again, except this time there was no sorting hat to hide inside. It was like they expected a man, or perhaps the same boy he had been. But right now, he was neither, and it was inexplicably awkward to fail their expectations once more after fulfilling their worst: killing Voldemort.

"How are you, Harry dear? Had a nice sleep?" Mrs. Weasley asked kindly.

"Fine, thanks." he mumbled, suppressing a wince. She had the best of intentions, he knew, but...they couldn't just pretend it hadn't all happened? Could they? Molly's hair had turned white, her wrinkles a little more noticeable that he remembered. Mr. Weasley was growing bald.

Hermione sat down next her Ron, whom offered Harry a seat beside himself.

"Well, one good thing about that _Tabula Rasa_ business is that you sleep a lot better now!" Ron joked.

"RONALD!" Hermione and Mrs. Weasley screeched at the same time.

"Oops. Sorry." Ron said, ears turning red. "Just wanted to lighten the mood I suppose."

"Hey, what do you mean he sleeps better now?" Remus asked shrewdly, always looking after his cub.

All eyes were on Harry again. He shuffled his feet beneath the table. "Just...nightmares about the war and stuff." The _stuff_ sounding pitifully juvenile in his deeper tone.

"You get used to it." Kingsley said encouragingly from the other end of the table.

"Thanks," Harry laughed softly. "I'll keep that in mind."

"So how do you feel this morning? Better?" Sirius wondered.

Harry shrugged. "I'm not exactly sure what I'm supposed to compare it to."

"Well, maybe in a day. Snape said to give it time." Bill chimed in, "Now let the poor man eat!"

The table chuckled as a whole as Mrs. Weasley bustled over with a steaming hot stack of waffles. She set the platter in front of him before sliding over some syrup, honey, and butter.

"I—I..." the smell billowed up, so sweet, so unfamiliar. He licked his lips. Then abruptly stood up. "I need to go."

"Oh, but Harry!"

"Harry!"

"Are you okay?"

"What's wrong?"

"Harry—!"

Harry raced upstairs, found his room, and promptly slammed the door. He slid down the wall, panting, nauseated. From down below he heard someone say "He just went up," and then there were footsteps.

.oOo.

Knock. "Harry?" Knock. Knock. Constant knocking. "Harry, I know you're in there. Open the door, it isn't healthy to be shut up."

Harry lifted his head from his chest. Was that-? Snape? Why would he be here? He groggily shifted out of the door frame.

"You can come in." he mumbled.

Snape gave a tired sigh. "I can't. It's locked, Harry."

"Oh, sorry," Harry said absently, letting go of his magic. Had he just called him Harry? "Okay, it's unlocked now."

A second later, and the towering form of Severus Snape filled the only escape route. He took one concerned look down his nose and frowned at the curled up boy.

"Potter, I think this is hardly appropriate for receiving company."

"Harry. Why'd you stop?"

Snape faltered. "Stop what?"

"Calling me Harry. Why Potter?"

"Because you weren't responding you daft boy. Now if you could please stand up and we can talk about the _Tabula Rasa_...Harry?"

It was bloody maddening, watching this grown man crumble on the floor before his eyes. That, and extremely depressing.

"Alright, let's talk." Harry finally said, leaning on the wall to stand. For some reason, Snape's presence seemed to ground him. Snape was solid—always spiteful, always with that bitter, stern expression on his face. Everyone downstairs? They were in mourning over lost years. He never thought he'd admit it, but he definitely preferred Snape above them. "So these side effects like, er, like sleeping at certain times...how long are they going to last?"

Snape visibly relaxed. "A month or two. I'm developing a potion to help minimize the effects of long-term damage, but potions can only do so much."

"Like stopper-death." Harry mumbled before he could help it.

"Indeed." Snape's lip curled up in amusement. "For the time being, I would highly suggest you familiarize yourself with the present day. Shacklebolt is Minister now, Flitwick is the Headmaster—"

"And you-?" Harry asked.

"Running a private apothecary in Knockturn." Snape said. "I wouldn't stay a minute longer teaching those dunderheads. It only took two of the world's most powerful wizards with their wands pointing at my head to make me stay as long as I did. Though, of course, I had the inimitable pleasure of teaching you."

"Yeah, you must have been bored after I left." Harry replied cheekily.

"No, I was busy plotting the Dark Lord's demise and keeping you from yours. You don't think I came into your room everyday to spend quality time with a corpse, did you? Memories fade, I had to make sure you got a least a dose of potion a day for you to keep your mind."

Harry paled. "You...you what?"

"Potter, it really isn't a hard concept to grasp. While you were unconscious, I forced potion down your throat."

"I bet you loved it when I choked." he muttered.

"Actually, it was unnerving. Had I let you die, the Dark Lord would have had my head on a platter."

"And all this time he never suspected you of aiding me?" Harry asked dubiously.

"Polyjuice. Surely, you've realized multiple appearances were crucial in this war."

"Oh, Merlin. That would have been bloody awful." Harry cried, thinking of several Severus Snape's running around the castle, yelling at children. "Thank god I was out cold!" Harry laughed, smiling at the floor. All this had happened and he hadn't even known it. The idea was ludicrous, someone eating Snape's oily hair—which surprisingly didn't look half-bad right now. And that nose wasn't as large as he remembered.

Harry laughed at the silliness, and laughed for never having laughed in several years.

And then he stopped. Because he caught sight of Snape smiling back at him, and that was scary.

He stilled, listening in the silence of the house when someone (probably Ginny) said from below: "Did you hear that? I think...I think Harry just laughed."

"What's he laughing at? Himself?" Sirius wondered in that rough voice of his.

"No, Snape's up there too, remember..." and that was Hermione.

"I—I, no offense, really." Harry mumbled, not sure how he should act. Like a sheepish schoolboy (which he never was), or a grown man, or perhaps a slightly embarrassed, confused war prisoner.

Snape stopped smiling, allowing his face to harden back to stone.

"I'll be checking by tomorrow." he said. "I'll try and develop that potion as soon as I can."

"Thanks..." Harry said. "Thanks..."

He wasn't sure what thoughts circulated around his mind as the man turned tail and left. He had many: that Snape wasn't that scary, that his hair wasn't that terrible, and that his smile was actually quite nice.

Harry shut the door and slid to the floor with a groan. It was probably just a side effect of war. He thought of the muggle phrase: _The enemy of my enemy who also happens to be my enemy is my...friend?_ He snorted. Not bloody likely, but then, he had tomorrow to know for sure.

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